Know Thine Namesake
by MissIndePENdent20
Summary: Follow James Sirius Potter as he journeys through Hogwarts and discovers the true meaning of his name, his house, and most importantly, his friends and family. How does he live up to it all? Read to find out!


**A/N: So, I wrote this story about James Sirius Potter, the first of the next Potter generation to go to Hogwarts on September 1, but I've just now got around to revising it and trying to develop a storyline.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or his children.**

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**Chapter 1**

For the first time in his life, James was nervous. He'd been excited for so long, he'd almost forgotten that with school came new responsibilities. Sure, there were things he would learn, people he would make friends with, but he was the firstborn son of the Chosen One. His dad wasn't one to emphasize glory. As a matter of fact, he hated it. But it didn't stop James from seeming overshadowed to the public eye.

He had roused himself early, wanting to have time to mull things over before someone gave him a pep talk. Like his father, James didn't like people feeling sorry for him. He debated whether to take a shower, pack again, or stand here staring out the window until the entire house woke up. A shower, he thought. Yes, a shower would be nice to clear my head.

James strolled down the bedroom corridor. Each child had been given a separate room, their father knowing all to well what claustrophobia and fear could do to a child. The only thing in the house that was completely, beyond a shadow of a doubt off-limits was the room at the end of the hall. The nameplate simply read Sirius. Never, under any circumstances, were the children to go in there.

He knew his grandfather's best friend was a bit of a rebel, but wondering what sort of things were in there fascinated James. He'd heard the stories hundreds of times. Sirius Black escaped Azkaban. Sirius Black, godfather to the famous Harry Potter. Black ran away from home as a boy, you know. Died in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. His surname was nearly as synonymous with fame in the Wizarding World as Potter.

James crept down the staircase to the bathroom. He didn't turn on a light, just in case his parents were awake and didn't want to be disturbed. It was still dark out, no one could blame them. He turned the knob labeled cold underneath the shower head and undressed.

For some odd reason, James had always loved to wash in cool water. From the time he could walk and talk, Ginny had told him how to take a shower instead of a bath. Unfortunately, James had misread her instructions or disregarded the directions entirely because he'd never taken a warm shower in his life.

The frigid water-soaked his messy hair, weighing it down. James ran his fingers through it, combing it out of his eyes. It made him feel at ease, knowing no one was around to blur his thoughts in here. He went through the motions fluidly and after a few minutes realized how hungry he was. He'd better eat well this morning or he'd end up being nautious on the Hogwarts Express. Joy.

After that, he hurried through drying off and finding the right get-up. As much as James wanted to look presentable for his first train ride, his stomach was his top priority.

He wandered into the kitchen, his hair still wet and messy. It wouldn't make much difference if it were dry anyway. It ran in the family, of course. Dad was the same and James could swear his younger brother's was beginning to get a curl as well as the normal unkempt look.

"Fancy a cup of tea?" James jumped, scraping his forearm along the rigid part of the cabinet. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"Dad," he complained. "It's bleeding. Why are you up anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "Couldn't get back to sleep, thought I'd stick around to see which one of you was up, though I had a sneaking suspicion it was you."

"Why me?" he asked as he got a dish rag to stench the bleeding.

"Because you, James, are going to Hogwarts today," he said matter-of-factly. "Pull up a seat, I'll make some tea before your mother wakes up."

James hesitantly sat down in a chair. What had kept him awake? Better yet, what was he going to talk to him about? Wasn't he the one who disliked pep talks more than James, himself? After a minute or so, Harry returned to the table with the pot of tea, pouring his and waiting for James to do the same.

"You think I'm going to give you an old cliché farewell and send you on your way?" The two of them grinned. He'd lightened the mood very much, and James figured this was a friendly talk, not a lecturely father-son conversation. "Are you ever going to figure out I've got years more experience with sarcasm?"

"Probably not," James admitted. "What are you going to say then?"

At this, he gave a sly smile. "You're just as scared as I was my first trip," Harry guessed. "Scared you won't live up to the name." James nodded. Could he literally read his thoughts or was it simply that his father knew him better than anyone else? "But you've got an asset I didn't have."

"What's that?"

"Your mother's determination," he remarked. "You hide fear better than I did. To sum it up, I was a weakling at your age. I'll give you some words of advice: it doesn't matter what you're born, but what you grow to be."

"Dumbledore?" James asked. He'd grown to like it when people made references to Dumbledore. Obviously, he was a talented wizard. His bloody brother was named for him, he'd better be brilliant.

Harry nodded. "You'll always be a Potter, but I urge you not to follow in my footsteps. Has your arm stopped bleeding yet?"

James answered, "Slowed."

"Be careful, may just leave a scar," he declared as he stood to clean his glass. James uncovered his scrape on his left arm to thankfully see it was not in the shape of a lightning bolt. "Al?" Harry asked.

James turned to see the half-conscious, nine-year-old Albus Potter, ladies and gentlemen. "Al?" James repeated.

"Al!" they shouted at the same time before Al plopped into a chair across from James, where their dad was recently sitting.

"I'm awake," Al said groggily. Through the progression of their conversation, the sun had risen enough to shine a bright light through the window. "Lil might be too," he added with a yawn.

Harry set the cup in the sink as quickly as possible. "That can't be good," he said to himself as James followed him up the stairs to their parents' room, knowing all too well what the possibilities were.

As predicted, the pair opened the door to Lily sitting next to her mother on the bed. And sure enough, Lily had a glass of water in her hand, ready to thrust Ginny's palm into it. "No!" Harry whispered urgently. "Lily get down from there. Accio!" he commanded, whipping out his wand to get a splash of water in the face.

Ginny sat up in a fit of laughter, apparently feigning sleep before. "And that," she called giddily, "is what happens growing up with six brothers!" Even Al, who really hadn't been acting, had come blundering up the stairs to see what all the fuss was about.

"Thank you, Gin. What a great eye-opener," he said sardonically as he removed his glasses, trying to rub the water off. "I swear, I regret teaching you those Muggle tricks."

When he finally seemed satisfied that there were no smudges, he slid his glasses back into place. "You brought it on yourself, love, you said I couldn't pull it off."

Yes, the Potter household was a lively one, even on early mornings, but James could never have been more nervous.


End file.
